The Saddest Little Valentine
by Potter47
Summary: Once upon a time there was a little Valentine named Ginevra, and she was the saddest little Valentine in all the land.


The Saddest Little Valentine  
_Potter47 _

Ginny sat on her broom, high above the earth. It was raining, and she was wet—drenched, more like—but she did not notice the drops on her hair, her clothes, her skin. She just watched them as they fell from the heavens above.

It was mesmerising.

The drops seemed to fall with absolute slowness. She could see each individual one, watch it as it fell, and observe it as it struck her self, and vanished into nothing.

The sound of the rain around her left Ginny deaf to the world—not that the world had anything to say to her, anyway. And after a while Ginny wanted to close her eyes and let the sweet _pitter-patter_ of the drops caress her and bind her with its spell.

It was much better than going back inside, that was for sure. Even though he wasn't here.

Ginny let her head fall back, no longer consciously holding onto the broom—she knew she would not fall, that she would catch herself by reflex. And so she _did_ close her eyes, and she let the raindrops land on her eyelids and on her tongue. They tasted good. Exquisite.

Ginny spread her arms, now (reflexively) holding herself on the broom with her legs alone. She let the rain fall on every part of her body that it could reach.

The feeling left her cleansed, reborn into purity. And though a thousand words could be used to describe this feeling, none were so very _right _as those that were the simplest:

It felt _good._

——

He spoke and she closed her eyes for a moment—just a moment—surrendering to the sweet sound of the familiar voice:

"Hey, Gin."

She was silent for another moment, taking a breath. "Hey," she said finally, turning round to look at his face. "What are you doing here?"

He grinned slightly. "My common room too, you know." He sounded different from usual—like he had something on his mind. He spoke slowly, as if purposely measured.

"Oh—oh, of course. Sorry." She turned back to the fire in front of her. It burned and cackled and cracked and she thought it would match nicely with her heart.

Harry sat down next to her and looked at her curiously. "You OK?" he asked, peering into her face. "You don't...look so good."

"Fine," said Ginny. "I'm fine."

Silence.

"How've you been?" said Ginny, looking at the fire and not at his eyes, not at that_ fire, no, not that fire, the one she could never seem to forget, to leave behind her...no, never that fire. She could never look at that fire, or her eyes would burn. Her chest was burnt from it already, and her face had just recovered. No, that fire she could not look at. Never, never directly, at least. _

"Fine," said Harry, and he glanced at the fire, not really seeing it. He looked back at Ginny. "What do you think about that Valentine's thing?" he said, and the fire raged higher and higher at his words, his choice of words, until the flames nearly consumed all of her thoughts. Nearly.

"I dunno," said Ginny, and Harry nodded—she knew the nod, recognised it, and knew in an instant that the fire could rest once again. He was making conversation, that was all, trying to make conversation. He had no one to talk to. He wanted to talk about things that didn't have any meaning, any real_ meaning, so that he didn't have to talk about what_

thatreal 

did_ have meaning, what had _real_ meaning. Or at least...no, that was it, right? It had to be. _

"I think it's a bit stupid," said Harry. "You can't imitate Hogsmeade—there's no use trying, right?"

"I dunno," said Ginny again. "Maybe it'd be...fun. It's better than not having Hogsmeade at all, I reckon."

"No," said Harry firmly. "I don't think it is."

Silence.

——

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived in a picture book. She was a beautiful little girl, with beautiful red hair—just like cherries!—and beautiful brown eyes—just like chocolate!— and a beautiful smile that could not be compared to anything at all.

Even her name was beautiful: Ginevra. Say it out loud a moment: _Gin-ev-ra._ It sounds so very pretty, does it not? It flows wonderfully right off the tip of your tongue. You can always tell if a person is going to have wonderful adventures by their name, and with a name like Ginevra, there was little doubt that the little girl would lead a very exciting life.

Before Ginevra could go on a single adventure, however, she was taken by an evil sorcerer known as the Riddlemaker. He locked her away in a Dark Tower and Ginevra was left alone all day long, with no one to talk to. Once in a while, the Riddlemaker would visit her, but of course visits by evil sorcerers were nothing to be happy about.

Every time the Riddlemaker came to Ginevra's Chamber, he would sit down by her bed and speak to her in a soft voice that Ginevra liked despite herself. He would always tell her a riddle, every time, and he said that if she could answer his riddle she was free to go. She never could, though, and she hated herself for it.

One day, however, the Riddlemaker came into her Chamber and did not seem to tell her a riddle at all He spoke only a single sentence:

"Name me and you shall destroy me."

And Ginevra became excited, for surely this was her chance to escape the Riddlemaker and return to her family—her loving parents and innumerable brothers.

"The Riddlemaker," she pronounced happily, but he was not destroyed. He smirked his evil smirk and put a finger to his lips, indicating silence.

He then vanished.

The Riddlemaker never returned to Ginevra's Chamber. He had left a hollow feeling in the room, a ringing in Ginevra's ears that she wasn't sure she could hear. He never ever came back, and Ginevra was lonelier than ever.

One day, however, a piece of curled parchment—torn out of a diary, it seemed—lay on her chest as she awoke. She picked it up excitedly and recognised the handwriting as her mother's. It read:

You are evil, Ginevra. Evil as can be.  
I am ashamed, that you call your mother me.  
You're expelled from the Tower, it's too good for you.  
You'll live in a dungeon, no water, light or food.  
It all is your fault, you belong with the monsters.

Why did you have to kill the roosters? 

Ginevra's eyes filled with tears as she read the letter and she collapsed back onto her bed—but her bed was not there. She was on the stone floor of a lightless dungeon, and it was cold. She noticed that she was very thirsty, and very hungry. Before long, she had fallen unconscious, and she dreamt of fire. Fire was warm. Fire was comforting. Fire felt _good._

And then she opened her eyes to the darkness—but it wasn't darkness anymore. There was a bright golden glow in the dungeon, as if from a—

Fire.

She would never forget that feeling of relief when she saw the fire in the middle of her dungeon. She would never forget that fire. She smiled her beautiful, incomparable smile and sighed contentedly, closing her eyes—

When she opened them, _he_ was there.

Instead of the dim glow of the fire, a blinding white light shone from his armour. He held his sword aloft, and looked into her eyes.

"It's all right," he said. "Riddle's finished." He put an arm around her and began to walk with her towards the exit, towards the way out. "Your silence is broken."

And then it was. And then he and Ginevra fell in love and were married and lived in a great castle with their twelve little boys and girls, and they all lived happily ever after.

The end.

——

The rain had put out the fire, and Ginny felt good.

Ginny flew now, flew as high as she could go. Straight upwards, towards the heavens. Higher than she'd ever gone before, ever cared to go.

She stopped when the rain did. She was above the clouds, now, and the rain was below her. For a moment she just hovered there, like a mosquito just in front of one's face, waiting to plant down and drink.

And then she sped straight down, as fast as her broom would take her. Faster, faster, faster still until she saw the ground only a few feet in front of her and abruptly pulled up on her broomstick. Letting out a satisfied breath, she slowed her broom to a stop and rolled off of it, landing in the soft, _squelchy_ mud.

"You have something on your lips," said a voice, and Ginny looked up to see Luna Lovegood standing above her. "I think it's mud."

"I do?" said Ginny.

"No, I do," said Luna. "But yes. In fact, you're covered in mud, from hair to ankle."

"I am?" Ginny said, closing her eyes and making a mud angel.

"Yes," said Luna. "Didn't you notice?"

They were both silent for a moment, and in another moment, Luna laid down herself and made her own mud angel. It was fun, you see.

"This feels good," said Luna, her dirty blonde hair truly very dirty.

"Yes," said Ginny. "Yes it does."

——

He broke the silence:

"Do you want to go?"

"What?" said Ginny, looking up from the fire—the one in the fireplace.

"To Hogs—well, you know. The Hogsmeade thing. Do you want to go?"

Ginny swallowed.

"With you?" Ginny asked, and the fire raged.

"Er...I was just asking if you wanted to go_," doused Harry, sounding embarrassed. "As in...are you going to go?" _

"Oh," said Ginny, and she managed not to sound disappointed—that's what she did best nowadays, right?

"But now you mention it," lit Harry, "would_ you like to go...with me, I mean? I mean...Ron and Hermione both already left—I dunno who they're going with—but I...well..." _

Ginny smiled briefly, and Harry seemed to be mesmerized by it. Where had he been hiding this nervousness? Well, she knew about hiding nervousness, of course—something they had in common, now.

"You don't have a date?" finished Ginny, and Harry nodded. "Then sure," said Ginny. "I'd love to."

Harry let out a breath, and it kindled the flame within Ginny without her even feeling it.

"Thank you. When do you want to go?"

"How about now?" said Ginny. "I don't have anything to do. And we only have till midnight."

"Huh?" he said, in an odd way...as if the words stirred something in him.

"Then it's Ravenclaw's turn, remember?"

"Oh...oh, right."

"Well then," said Ginny, glancing away from the fire and standing. "Let's go."

wanted to gowould 

——

Once upon a time, there was a sad little Valentine, named Ginevra. She was a beautiful little girl, with beautiful red hair—just like raspberries!—and beautiful brown eyes—just like swirling pools of mud!— and a beautiful smile that could not be compared to anything at all.

Sadly, her beautiful smile was rarely seen these days. As you read, she was a very sad little Valentine. And that was for a simple reason—she _wasn't_ anyone's Valentine.

Last year she had been a Valentine. And the year before that as well. But not this year, no.

This was Ginevra's sixth year at a magical school called Hogwarts. This magical school was so very magical that it had its own magical village to come with it. This village was called Hogsmeade, and everyone at Hogwarts loved it.

However, an evil sorcerer called the Riddlemaker was hurting a lot of people, even Ginevra's friends. And so, all of the magical people at the magical school had to stay at the magical school and not visit the magical village for Valentine's Day.

This was very sad news, because many of the magical people were parts of magical couples, and these magical couples did not want to stay cooped up in a school for the most romantic day of the year, you see.

One day, however, a handsome prince walked up to Ginevra in the great Common Room of her magical school. He said:

"Fair lady—" and Ginevra blushed horribly because no one ever called her fair lady and she liked it.

"Fair lady, won't you accompany me to a magical place? The great Village of Hogsmeade has been erected within the Come and Go Room of your magical school, and I have no one to accompany me. Will you not do so?"

"I would _love_ to," said Ginevra, and suddenly she was wearing a festive gown that sparkled and glowed and was simply _beautiful—_nearly as beautiful as the smile upon her face, which could not be compared to anything.

"The magic of this Come and Go Room shall be cut short at midnight, my lady," said the prince, lifting her onto his steed and galloping her off across the seventh floor. "We have only one half day to enjoy, for it is now noon. Let us go!"

——

It was odd—it had felt so very good to be cleansed by the rain, but it felt just as good if not better to lay in the mud and become dirty all over again. And then she felt it.

The rain—now it did not cleanse her, it simply bounced right off of her, did not affect her in any way. The rain was just the reason her face was wet, not the reason she felt good.

The fire was alive again, burning brightly deep below the protective layer of mud upon Ginny's skin. It consumed her heart and she stood without thinking, and began to walk. Luna, after sliding her arms through the comforting mud one more time, followed.

"Where are we going?" Luna said.

"I have to do something," said Ginny, but she couldn't tell what.

"What?" said Luna.

"I can't tell."

"Oh," said Luna, and didn't ask again.

——

Harry and Ginny walked into The Three Broomsticks, and ordered a butterbeer each, to go. They drank them as they walked along the High Street.

Where to go? Harry said that he had to send something at the post office—Hedwig was off with a letter. Ginny wondered who the letter was for—and how an owl could fly from the inside of a room.

It was cold outside—inside, really—but the butterbeer was warm as it made its way down Ginny's throat. Madam Rosmerta had not let the change of location detract from the quality of her product, though of course the only reason Ginny bothered to think of this was because Harry was busy with his letter and she had nothing else to think about.

Harry returned and they went to Zonko's—neither of them really felt like being there, but when one goes to Hogsmeade—any version of it—they simply must_ visit Zonko's. It was as if there was a spell that forced the students to enter the shop—and Ginny even found herself buying something she had no interest in at the moment: a portable fire that snuffed itself out whenever needed most. _

Ginny then found herself in Honeydukes. She loved Honeydukes—but something felt different today. She couldn't tell what. Harry had hardly said a word the whole time they had been in Hogsmeade—well, the Room of Requirement, at least—and neither had she. It was not Ginny's ideal first date with Harry—most certainly not the fantasy she'd been having for as long as she could remember, where Harry rescued her again and again, a knight in shining armour, or a valiant prince.

But she hadn't been expecting a knight or a prince—she'd been expecting Harry. And he wasn't here.

must 

——

Once upon a time there was a sad little Valentine that you already know about. She was not so sad today, however, and for a very simple reason:

She, the saddest little Valentine, _had_ a Valentine—a Valentine of her very own.

The Prince had walked with her all day—it seemed, though it had only really been a few hours—going into different shops and such, and buying her whatever she liked. And then suddenly they walked by a large field that had somehow found its way into this magical Hogsmeade.

"Let us have a picnic!" said Ginevra, the little Valentine.

"Of course," said her prince. "Anything for you, my dear."

But as they entered the field by the little wooden gate, a wooden table appeared in the middle of the open space. It was shaped like a 'T' and at the thin end sat the Riddlemaker, grinning evilly.

"Have a seat," said the Riddlemaker, and Ginevra and the prince found themselves in chairs at the wide end of the T.

"I am the ghost of your pasts," said the Riddlemaker solemnly; "and I am here to haunt your futures."

Ginevra and the prince held their hands clasped together, and Ginevra was afraid.

"You were not made for each other," said the Riddlemaker simply. "You were not. And you are not. Goodbye."

He then vanished.

"That was awfully strange," said Ginevra, and she looked to the prince to see what he thought but lo! he was gone too.

"No!" said Ginevra, and she realised she was alone, and was to be alone for ever after.

The end.

——

Ginny walked quickly, quickly, quickly towards the castle doors. She...did not know what she was doing, but she was quite clearly doing it anyway.

Luna struggled to keep up, but she didn't really seem to struggle at all—she was having a hard time keeping up, more like, but you would not know it by looking at her face.

Ginny had just reached the front steps of the castle, her feet slogging through the mud, when a white owl—contrasting violently with the evening's stormy sky—perched atop her shoulder.

"Hedwig?" Ginny said, terribly confused, while also not confused at all—of course Hedwig was here. Of course—but why?

A letter, soaked through with rain—the owl seemed to repel the drops, so as to maintain its flawless feathers—was in Hedwig's beak, and Ginny took it, thanking the bird, who disappeared into the storm.

"What does it say?" said Luna, catching up with Ginny. "What did he say?"

"I don't know," said Ginny, unfurling the wet parchment. Random words seemed to have been blurred to illegibility, and it made the message difficult to read:

_Gin--, _

I'm sorry but I shouldn't have ------ you today. _It was -------- of me.  
__I just... ------ I couldn't, I can't. WE can't. It just --------meant to be.  
I'm really ---ry. Don't try to tal- to me. _

Harry

Ginny dropped the letter onto the stone of the front steps just as a raindrop fell onto Harry's name, blurring it out. Ginny let the parchment fall to the stone and set off for the front door, determined.

"I'm sorry," said Luna, barely making it into the entrance hall before the great door slammed shut from the wind.

"For what?" said Ginny, heading for the marble staircase, knowing that of course Luna was sorry because—

"I splashed you," said Luna. "I'm sorry." A beat. "What was the letter about?"

Ginny sort of half-laughed, and noticed that she had a few tears in her eyes. Or was it rain? She wiped it away, either way, and got even more mud on her face.

"Nothing," said Ginny. "The letter meant nothing."

"All right then," said Luna. She looked over her shoulder. "I hope you don't need me. I'll be in the Great Hall—I love looking at the sky in rainstorms."

"Sure," said Ginny, and she dashed up the stairs, nearly slipping on the now-wet marble.

——

Ginny and Harry found themselves in front of Madam Puddifoot's tea shop, and Ginny did not know how they'd gotten there.

Neither made any move to go in—neither wanted to go in. The street was uncommonly empty, and Harry was all that Ginny could see, apart from the tea shop. Said tea shop seemed unusually foreboding, like an evil fortress that only the bravest would dare to breach.

Neither spoke and Ginny for the first time in a long time experienced true silence—the kind that is so loud that it hurts. Ginny could hear the absence of noise in her ears, and she thought that if it lasted much longer she would burst—

But she did not burst—the clouds did, though, and at that very moment it began to rain. To pour. It was as if the heavens had decided that the not-really-Valentines were the saddest-looking Valentines in the world, and wept for them.

Or something like that.

"It's raining," said Ginny finally.

"Yes," said Harry.

"We should probably go in," Ginny said.

"No," said Harry. "Not here."

And without another word the 'date', if it could be called that, was over, and they made their way back to the gate (if it could be called that), back to the entrance of the Room of Requirement. Ginny idly wondered why they'd made it rain indoors, but she figured that it must be raining outside too.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, and he left her without another word. He just...left. She could tell that he wanted to be alone—NEEDED to be alone...but part of her did not want him to leave, did not want to let him leave. The part of her that burned at the sight of his eyes, that part.

Her heart, and the fire within.

But she let him go. She...let him walk off to who-knows-where, and he did not come back to the common room, even after hours and hours. Finally, Ginny thought that perhaps he had went out to go flying, to ease the pain, whatever pain it was. She retrieved her broomstick from her dorm and headed for the pitch.

——

Once upon a time there was a little Valentine named Ginevra, and she was the saddest little Valentine in all the land. This was because her true love, a boy named Harry, which is a very valiant name, was locked away inside himself, locked away by an evil sorcerer named the Riddlemaker.

The Riddlemaker had put Harry into an enchanted sleep, and only ever could he be awakened if Ginevra were to find him, were to get to him, were to give him the kiss that marked their love as true.

But the Riddlemaker had hidden Harry, hidden him away not only inside himself, but inside a Fortress of Evil. This Fortress was the home to a Wicked Witch, who was the fairest witch in all of the world, and had performed the Riddlemaker's enchantment—the one to make Harry dead to the world.

This Wicked Witch had kissed Harry while crying, and as everyone knows, when a wicked kiss is combined with tears, the kissed will be enchanted as Harry had been, exactly two years before.

But now Ginevra was going to free Harry, to break the enchantment cast upon him by the Wicked Witch and the Riddlemaker, if only she could find her way into the Fortress.

Ginevra had searched all the lands surrounding the Fortress for some sort of secret entrance, but none were to be found. Finally, aid came to her in the form of a beautiful owl, feathers as white as snow.

"Your love is in a troubled sleep," cooed the owl, though Ginevra had never before been able to hear an owl coo. "You must rescue him now, before his nightmares overcome him—I shall help you."

"Thank you, dear owl," said Ginevra and she followed the owl as it led the way to a small village. In the village there was an open field, and in the open field sat a table in the shape of a T.

"Under there," said the owl. "Through the trapdoor."

And Ginevra saw a trapdoor by the wide end of the T, and jumped through it, not a care in the world but to reach her love. The owl followed, and the trapdoor closed itself behind them.

Ginevra found herself in a mountain of pink confetti, and she knew that this confetti was magical, and that if she did not leave it soon she would fall asleep in it, and never find her way out again.

She did so, she got out, and found herself somehow in a black dungeon, though surely there had been light a moment before, or else she could not have known the confetti was pink. The owl was gone.

The room was black, but her eyes got used to it—somehow that felt wrong. Eyes don't adjust to total darkness; they can't, because no light can enter the pupils. But she could see...it took her a long time to notice that light came from within her self. A fire burned inside her chest, and the glow lit the room, however dimly. It was enough to see. It was enough to see _him._

"Harry," Ginevra said, collapsing to the floor by her true love's side. "Harry, please don't be dead."

She knew he wasn't, of course. He was still breathing, however lightly, and his eyes moved fast, back and forth and back and forth, beneath his eyelids. He was lost in a nightmare.

Ginevra had heard somewhere that it wasn't good to wake someone during a nightmare, but she thought this would be an exception, and kissed her love, true on the lips.

The end.

——

Ginny made her way to the Room of Requirement, tripping twice over her filthy robes on the way there. The door was open, of course, as it had been to the Gryffindors all day. All day? How late was it?

And Ginny looked at her watch—half-eleven. If she could not get him out of there in a half an hour, they both would vanish with Gryffindor's Hogsmeade (at least that was how she reckoned it worked; perhaps she was thinking a bit overdramatically).

She ran as fast as she could down the High Street, storm clouds crackling ominously above her as she went. On and on and on she went, running until she found herself in front of _that place_, that horrible place with its horrible Valentine's decorations and its horrible memories.

Madam Puddifoot's.

Steeling herself, Ginny pushed the door open and went inside. There, sitting at one of the otherwise empty tables in the centre of the room, looking quite miserable as a cherub dumped pink confetti onto his head, was Harry.

Was he...crying?

"Harry," said Ginny, and she sat down opposite him. He did not look at her, and she noticed that his eyes were closed.

"Harry," she said again, and he sobbed shakily, and then wiped his eyes irritably, as if annoyed at himself for crying.

"Harry," she said a third time, taking hold of his arm from across the table, the one he'd wiped his face with; "it's OK to cry."

He opened his eyes now, and looked at her, just as miserably as ever.

"I—" he began, but he shook his head, scolding himself for some reason or another. "Ginny, I blew it. I just...I ruined any chance I ever had. Every one—I—I couldn't talk. It was like someone was...was _there_, clamping my mouth shut, and I couldn't talk at all, and...I've always _been able to talk to you_. I hated myself, I _do_ hate myself, and—"

"Harry, slow down," said Ginny comfortingly. "Just...slow down."

He shook his head, but slowed down anyway, perhaps without meaning to. "I couldn't talk to you. I couldn't...tell you how happy I'd felt when you said yes, how I'd wanted to ask you for so long, how...how nice you looked." He hesitated, really looking at her now for the first time. "You—you don't anymore," he said. "What happened to you?"

"Oh!" said Ginny, looking down at her robes and laughing at herself a bit. "It's uh...It's raining," she said, and Harry looked at her in such a way that she knew he knew that that was the understatement of the century, but didn't really care.

"Right," he said, moving as if to wipe his eye again but stopping when he was about to have to take his arm out of Ginny's hand. Instead, she wiped his face for him with her free hand, and he leaned into the touch greatly.

Both were silent for a moment, but it was the good kind of silence, because Ginny could hear Harry's breathing, or perhaps it was her own breathing—it didn't really matter.

"Thank you," said Harry finally; "for coming here. For saving me."

And then he sobbed once again, involuntarily, and shook his head again, back and forth and back and forth. "Everything is upside-down," said Harry, and Ginny didn't know what he meant. He elaborated before she needed to ask him to.

"Two years ago," he began. "Two years ago _today_...I was here. In _this seat_. And that was one of the worst days of my life—I don't remember if I thought it was then, but I know it was now. That was one of the worst days. And look." Sob. "Look at this." He gestured to the two of them, back and forth and back and forth. "Look at what has changed. _I've_ changed." He shook his head again. "You haven't. You've always been the same. You always will be."

Ginny was not breathing. How could she? She was on fire, and she was sure that Harry must be too, now, or at least must feel the heat permeating from her skin. The fire that had grown and dwindled, back and forth and back and forth, all day long, had finally become a full-fledged inferno. No one could ever snuff out the flames, by Muggle means or even by magic. _This fire should be allowed to consume the world,_ Ginny thought, and she remembered hearing about some plants, or something, that only grew after horrible fires had burnt fields and forests, and those plants could be even better than what had been there before. Why shouldn't the world be better after it was burnt by this fire, this wonderful, terrible fire?

But Harry hadn't finished.

"This is one of the best days, Ginny. _The _best day. The world—_my _world, I mean, _my world_—has turned on its head. _I_ feel like I've been turned on my head. I can't...I just....This can't possibly be the same world from two years ago, the same shop, the same seat." He laughed slightly. "Well, it's not, is it? We're in the Room of Requirement, and you know what happened _here_ two years ago—"

"Harry?" Ginny said, and Harry looked up from his nearly-senseless rant—that made all the sense in the world to Ginny—he looked up and saw that Ginny was crying now, and his eyes widened in fear.

"No! _Please,_ Ginny, don't cry. I'm so sorry—I never should've—never should have...oh, God, Ginny, I'll just leave now. You don't have to talk to me again. I never should have said any of this to you—"

"Harry!" said Ginny again, as Harry was about to stand.

"What, Gin? What else did I do wro—"

Harry stopped in mid-word, and he did not know why, unless it was because he had been mesmerised by the look in Ginny's eyes. For a long moment neither of them said a word—_again_—and now Ginny was sure that it was both of their breaths that she could hear, not hers and his, but both together.

She broke the silence:

"I love you, too, Harry." And Harry sobbed one final time; it was a sob of disbelief, Ginny knew, though she had never in her life heard a sob of disbelief before.

Another long moment. Another silence. And again Ginny heard their breathing together.

"You can kiss me now, Harry," she said, and he did. He didn't remember reaching across the table, he didn't remember anything, save Ginny.

Save Ginny indeed.

——

Once upon a time there was a little Valentine named Harry, and he was the saddest little Valentine in all the land. This was because he had been locked away from his true love, a beautiful girl named Ginevra. She had beautiful red hair—just like fire!—and beautiful brown eyes—just like tea!—and a beautiful smile that could not be compared to anything at all.

One day, Ginevra showed that she was the bravest little girl in all the land, though of course she wasn't a very little girl at all—more like the bravest little young lady in all the land, because she still was very small, despite her age.

Anyway, one day Ginevra saved Harry from a horrible Fate, a Fate that—as she showed him—was not Harry's Fate at all.

Harry's true Fate lied with Ginevra herself, who rescued him from the evil sorcerer, the Riddlemaker, by burning him with the fire of her heart—or had it been the fire of his own heart that had defeated the sorcerer?

It did not matter, in the end. For in that end, Harry and Ginevra lived in a wonderful castle called Hogwarts, which was Harry's true home, just as Ginevra was his true love. The two married and had twelve little girls and boys of their own, who all had names worthy of adventurers, like their parents'. All of them, however, through both adventure and calm, both true love and dream, lived happily ever after.

The end.


End file.
